


Fairy Tale

by Melodious329



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:59:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melodious329/pseuds/Melodious329
Summary: Completely AU metaphor for the Horsemen episodes. Duncan rescues an unwilling Methos.  Inspired by the children's book "Talking to Dragons" by Patricia Wrede
Relationships: Duncan MacLeod/Methos (Highlander)
Kudos: 7





	Fairy Tale

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just moving my fics from other archives all into AO3.

Once upon a time…  
  
Methos stood in the cave and watched the dragon’s red tail slither out the rocky entrance. Her voice echoes in his head, “Don’t get into any trouble.” He chuckles to himself, what trouble could he find in a cave set high in a cliff. But still he is warmed by her concern over him. The dragon’s name is Nter and Methos has been living in her cave for the past two years. He enjoys living there immensely, much more than the last place that he lived. Here in the cave, he can go exploring the inner caverns, hunt small animals in the woods below, and read the books Nter brings back for him.  
  
Settling back on the cushions that comprise his living space, he picks up the newest book. It’s fascinating, about the culture of humans who live far away in the north, in the snow and ice. Last night he fell asleep reading it and he is anxious to finish.  
  
Just as he turns the first page though, Methos hears the sound of rocks falling down the cliff face. Frowning he gets up to peek outside. Drat, another one?! He watches a man in armor trudging up the steep path that leads to the cave entrance. It’s a knight, his protective metal covered in dust but still glinting unevenly in the sunlight. They come by occasionally, hoping to make a name for themselves by slaying a dragon. Never mind that Nter doesn’t attack people unless provoked, they still hunt her. She even spares most of the knights, convincing them to leave her in peace and only killing the ones that will not give up.  
  
Methos goes over to a niche in the cave wall. He is supposed to hide himself there if anyone comes while Nter is out hunting wild game, but before he disappears into the cave’s inner labyrinth, he turns, wanting a glimpse of the knight entering behind him. He lingers as the man removes his helmet. The man is beautiful. Long, brown hair loosely curling at his shoulders, large brown bedroom eyes…that are staring directly at him.  
  
“You there…” Shit, the knight saw him. Methos stilled unsure of what to do. He should run and hide, but he is intrigued by the visitor. His eyes flick uncertainly between the man before him and the stone wall behind him.  
  
“Are you alright?” The knight hurries over to him, concern filling the dark eyes, but Methos just opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air. It had been two years since he had spoken to anything besides Nter, more since he had spoken to a human with his voice.  
  
“Has the dragon hurt you?” The knight’s voice was as if he were speaking to a very young child.  
  
Methos laughed out loud then. “No, she wouldn’t hurt me.” Nter had been nothing but protective since she had found Methos hiding in the rocks below. It had been a new experience for the young man, to be doted upon. She had recognized what he was immediately, but instead of attacking him she had spoken to him gently, coaxing him out of his hiding place, much as this knight was doing now.  
  
The knight’s face showed his obvious confusion at Methos’s laughter. He stared at Methos quizzically for a long moment, before warily looking around the room as if suddenly remembering the danger of being inside a dragon’s lair. Satisfied that the dragon was not currently hiding in the large cavern, the knight walked right up to Methos and grasped the smaller man’s shoulder.  
  
The touch was like an electric shock, it seared through Methos’s thin tunic. In wonder Methos looked up into dark brown eyes that were reflecting his own emotions. His pulse seemed to literally beat from under the other man’s warm hand. The moment lengthened as they stared into each other’s eyes, the air growing thick around them.  
  
Then the knight tightened his grip and pulled the slender man forward. Only after Methos resisted did the man explain his intentions.  
  
“Come on. Let’s get you out of here before the dragon returns.”  
  
“What? I can’t leave.”  
  
The knight was becoming exasperated rapidly, acting as if it were inconceivable that he not be obeyed immediately. Methos had to suppress a grin despite the increasingly distressing circumstances. It was awfully fun to provoke the tightly strung man. And awfully easy.  
  
Yanking harder on Methos’s arm as if to show that he was serious, the knight replied, “I don’t know what the dragon has done to you, but I am not leaving you here.”  
  
Suddenly afraid, Methos twisted out of the man’s grip. He couldn’t leave, this was the only place he was safe. The knight seemed surprised at his strength as Methos fended off the man’s attempts to subdue him with catlike grace, blocking his hands and slipping constantly just out of reach.  
  
  
Methos might have been able to get away, to slip into the mazelike inner caverns and lose the man there, but he tripped…on his own book for god’s sake. Methos landed hard with the knight’s weight on top of him. He shoved uselessly on the armored body above him but the man used his greater weight to his advantage. Producing a rope from the satchel tied to his waist, the knight bound Methos’s hands together. Then he yanked his captive up to a sitting position so he could wrap the rope around Methos’s torso, securing the pale arms to the front of the slender body. Satisfied with his work, the knight pulled Methos on his feet again.  
  
“Please don’t. Let me go.” It was Methos’s last resort, a last ditch effort to plead for leniency.  
  
But the knight didn’t understand and Methos couldn’t explain. If he told why he couldn’t be among humans the knight might just kill him outright. And the man was looking at Methos with such tender concern. Methos didn’t want to lose that, didn’t want to see hate in those beautiful dark eyes. The knight reached out a hand in reassurance. For a moment Methos thought that the knight would stroke his face, but then the man just patted his shoulder.  
  
“I’m sorry. I just want to help.” Methos could see that the man really meant it, really thought that he was helping. Hope sprung up in his heart. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If the knight didn’t know what he was, maybe no one would. Maybe he could live amongst people, maybe…maybe he could have the chance to get to know the knight better.  
  
Methos could have refused to walk, lain down on the ground and forced the knight to carry him if he was so insistent. But Methos knew the knight would do it and then they’d probably fall down the rock face. So he began the walk down, in front of the knight whose hands remained on Methos’s shoulders, guiding and supporting him on the treacherous slopes.  
  
At the bottom, just inside the forest they stopped for a rest where the knight had tethered his horse. The knight helped the slender man to sit on a rock and retrieved food and water from the saddle bags before sitting himself.  
  
“I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. What is your name?”  
  
His captive stared back at him warily before answering, and Duncan felt the man’s regard like a physical weight.  
  
“Methos.” Duncan thought the name odd. The slender man must have been brought by the dragon from a faraway land. The man did look oddly exotic for a farmer’s son.  
  
“Well I’m sure you’re very thirsty. If I release your hands will you promise not to try and escape again?”  
  
The other man just stared at him with eyes that had gone a warm brown against the surrounding foliage, giving him a look that said Methos would be gone in a second if Duncan let him loose and that Duncan was a fool for thinking otherwise. The knight sighed.  
  
Getting up he went to sit beside the bound man not missing the amusement that Methos attempted to hide. He lifted the water-skin to the man’s face, waiting until Methos tilted his head back before pouring the water into the open lips. Duncan watched frankly fascinated by the movement of the man’s throat as he swallowed the water. He had not been surprised to find a thin, frail, doe-eyed young man in the dragon’s lair. Methos fit the part of a captive, looking like a youth who had been living in constant fear and definitely not getting regular meals. What did surprise him was his reaction to the young man. Gulping himself, Duncan moved the water-skin away.  
  
Methos licked his lips and flexed his arms, obviously wanting to wipe his mouth with his hand. Duncan thought about doing it for him. The man’s voice surprised him out of his internal debate.  
  
“So what is Duncan MacLeod doing challenging the great dragon?”  
  
Duncan glared at Methos. The man was laughing at him, provoking him. It was disconcerting for Duncan. People did not often question him.  
  
  
“My father, King Ian was asked to help the nearby kingdom of Felwah ruled by King Kronos. Kronos said that a red dragon had been attacking his countryside, burning homes and abducting children. Since I am the second son I was sent.”  
  
Methos nodded as if in understanding. Despite the humour and vulnerability in those eyes there was something else, something more, some dark knowledge that one seemingly even younger than himself should not have.  
  
“So you’re a prince.” Methos’s voice was detached as if he had expected nothing less.  
  
Duncan felt oddly bashful as he nodded his assent. For the first time he found himself reluctant to admit his high rank as if the title made him nothing more than an empty-headed spoiled brat. He busied himself with tearing off pieces of the jerky he had brought with him. Then he realized that he would have to feed it to the other man. What was it about this man that threw him so? Duncan was well acquainted with lust. He knew that he was good looking, many women and even men at court had openly admired his looks particularly when he was exercising with a kata or a quarterstaff, and he had bedded many of them. He was not embarrassed of his own desires. Methos was certainly attractive with a long-limbed lithe body, and strong featured face. But it was more than lust.  
  
Trying to keep his hand from shaking too noticeably, Duncan raised a piece of the jerky to Methos’s mouth. The endearingly open hazel eyes watched him as Methos accepted the food. The knight’s breath caught as the fuller lower lip barely brushed his index finger.  
  
None of those pretty faces had made him feel as this slender enigmatic youth did. Perhaps it was that the man did not seem impressed by him, had not sought to ingratiate himself to Duncan. It was much different than how he was treated at his father’s court where people fell all over themselves to get to him. Methos on the other hand seemed to delight in annoying him.  
  
“Where did you come from?” Duncan wondered if Methos’s home was close to his father’s kingdom…or maybe the man could be persuaded to accompany him.  
  
Methos’s face went white as a ghost at the question. Eyes gone a darker green with some remembered pain flicked around, trying to look anywhere but at Duncan. Methos was such a mystery, he moved with an air of disaffected nonchalance and easy grace but in his eyes there were secrets and knowledge even though his manner was one of quiet curiosity and a ferocious will.  
  
Duncan couldn’t resist the urge then to wrap his arms around the slender frame and hold the other man close, offering the comfort of touch to whatever pain. He should have known that Methos wouldn’t want to remember being kidnapped from his home. The man had probably watched many people die that day, some probably from his own family.  
  
And Methos seemed to sag against him, the tension of the wiry frame bleeding out. The youth seemed to be in great need of solace even coming as it was from a near stranger. That reminded Duncan that he was holding a bound man that couldn’t be trusted not to run back to a dragon’s lair and he felt a little silly. After another moment, Methos seemed to realize that too, stiffening as he straightened up again.  
  
In silence Duncan helped the man onto his mount, climbing up behind Methos. It would take several hours to ride back to Kronos’s keep, but since Duncan would be spending it with Methos’s back snug to his chest, he didn’t mind. Since Methos was bound, Duncan would have to hold the man rather tightly, he thought with a smile.  
  
Methos didn’t seem to mind either. They talked of inconsequential things, how Duncan’s father Ian was a good man who had raised his sons with honor. How Duncan’s brother Connor would make a fine king one day. He spoke of his advisor Joseph who had taught him wisdom, who was still trying to teach him wisdom and of his best friend Richard who was his captain of the guard and was always willing to go on Duncan’s harebrained rescue missions. His life, Methos said nothing of his own life and Duncan was too afraid at that point to ask. However when he mentioned that Joseph and Richard were waiting for him at Kronos’s castle and that Methos should meet them, the man stiffened and did not reply.  
  
Duncan didn’t understand. Did Methos still intend to return to the dragon? What magick had been done to the man? Or was it just that Methos had no intention of continuing any kind of relationship with Duncan once they arrived, was just playing along out of gratitude?  
  
And yet Duncan was certain that Methos had feelings for him. The man was interested in his stories, laughing at his escapades and taking great delight in sarcastically rebuking Duncan for being foolish and reckless. And Methos leaned back into Duncan’s body, resting his head against a broad shoulder as Duncan’s arms encircled him.  
  
But the closer they got to the keep, the more anxious Methos became. Duncan himself was worried since he had not yet fulfilled his obligation. He had not fought the dragon yet. But Kronos had told him specifically to bring any captives back to the castle first before engaging the dragon. That was why he had waited until he had seen at least one dragon leave the cave before climbing up. Duncan had been skeptical that there would be anyone; he thought that dragons normally just ate their victims.  
  
So it was with heavy hearts that the two men approached the outer doors of the keep. Duncan pulled Methos down, holding him tight to his side as the man seemed as tightly drawn as a bowstring. He sawed through the ropes that bound the man, not wanting people to get the wrong idea. Instead Duncan kept a tight grip on Methos’s large long-fingered hand as he maneuvered them inside.  
  
Inside the outer wall there was the customary bustle of end of the day activity as the sun set behind them. Duncan walked quickly in the direction of the main hall where Kronos would see them. He felt a pull on his hand and instantly tugged Methos along. But when he turned to see why Methos was stalling, he was amused to see that the man was flopping like a fish on a line, turning one way then another to see all that was around them. Apparently he had never been in a castle keep before. Again Duncan chastised himself for not suspecting, the youth had probably been raised in an outlying village.  
  
Duncan slowed their walk, letting Methos look around. Smiling he even tried to explain where people were going, what they were doing. And Methos smiled shyly back, seemingly embarrassed by not knowing. Eventually they made it into the castle itself. Methos couldn’t keep a hand from trailing the stone walls as they passed.  
  
They entered the grand hall to wait for King Kronos. Duncan kept holding Methos’s hand despite that he doubted the man was thinking about escape anymore. Methos was still too busy looking at everything around him, at the crowd of people now staring at them.  
  
And then everyone became quiet as the trumpets sounded the king’s arrival. Methos looked up at the knight nervously and Duncan squeezed the long fingered hand once for reassurance, before turning to see Kronos take his seat.  
  
He barely noticed that the witch Cassandra had followed Kronos in until the woman began screaming.  
  
“Demon!” She screamed, pointing at Methos. “He’s of the brunde, can’t you see?! A half-breed!” It took a moment for the words to register, so unexpected was the outburst. After a moment’s pause, Kronos stood up again, motioning for his guards to restrain the lean man.  
  
Duncan was so stunned he couldn’t speak. He turned to look at the youth beside him, dropping their hands. Methos’s eyes were wide, he looked afraid and…guilty. Of course, Duncan thought, how had he not seen it before? Methos’s tall and lean frame, deceptively strong, the long agile fingers and limbs, the ever-changing eye color. The brunde were a violent race of human-like creatures. They were marauders, living in the forest and raiding the villages close by mostly for fun. They seemed unconscionable, raping and murdering without thought.  
  
Methos stared in bewildered resignation as the guards came for him. Vaguely he saw the throngs of people around him reacting in revulsion and fear, shouting at him, cursing him. He had known this would happen, that humans would not accept him. No one accepted him, wanted him. He belonged no where. But when Duncan dropped his hand, it hurt, more than he had thought possible. He didn’t look at the other man’s face, too afraid to see the horror Methos knew would be there.  
  
Quickly he was escorted through the stone hallways. It seemed that they were following the man whom Methos assumed to be Kronos and the woman who had screamed at him. They entered a grand bedchamber, where the man stood facing him, looking as if he were receiving guests. Methos heard the doors shut behind him with a kind of finality.  
  
Methos’s arms were held on each side by a guard, but he didn’t struggle. Slowly, with a smile, Kronos advanced on him. Methos started, pulling back when he saw the scar that ran the length of the king’s face. It made Kronos look infinitely nastier. The soldiers wrenched his arms back behind his body as if he had been trying to escape.  
  
“So you are of the brunde?” It was said in a conversational tone, Kronos’s voice slightly touched by amused disbelief. “You don’t look nearly as scary as your kin.” Kronos’s hand reached out to stroke a high cheek bone and Methos had a sinking feeling in his gut. This was not just about ridding the earth of his race.  
  
“I had heard that there was a half breed living with the dragons.” Methos was shocked. Who could possibly have known where he was? Only his brunde family knew.  
Kronos laughed at his expression, turning and motioning the guards holding Methos forward. At the window, Kronos pointed to a pike with a head on it, a brunde head on it. Methos gasped and choked, feeling suddenly nauseous. His kin would not have given up information easily not even about him, not without severe torture. It did not bode well for his own fate.  
  
“Yes I finally managed to capture one…it took a lot of bait.” Kronos mused, obviously pleased with himself. “The brunde can speak to the dragons, but they are enemies. You however…” Kronos whirled to face Methos again with a hard expression. “You have lived with them for over two years. They like you, trust you. They protect you. They will listen to you…”  
  
Kronos paused in his speech, stepping so close to Methos that he could feel the king’s breath on his face. He averted his gaze as Kronos’s hand stroked possessively down his side, removing the belt on his tunic. “And you will listen to me.”  
  
Stepping back the king ordered his men to strip the captive, negligently as if ordering them to sweep the hallway. Methos finally found his voice.  
  
“No! Stop!” He struggled wildly, trying to get Kronos to listen to him. “I don’t control them, they won’t listen to me!”  
  
Kronos’s laughter froze Methos’s blood, it was so cold. “Before you that dragon was responsible for at least one human death a month and dozens of missing livestock. Now she hunts wild game in the forests!”  
  
“She recognized that it was time to stop! It only hurt her by drawing your wrath!”

Methos’s desperate words were stopped abruptly when Kronos back handed him. “Silence! She will be my weapon. She destroys my enemies or she watches you die. You will tell her.”  
  
Averting his eyes from the man before him, Methos sucked his split lip into his mouth. The shorter king stepped close, nuzzling the long neck of his captive and breathing in his scent. Methos stayed perfectly still. Though this had never happened to him before, he knew what was coming.  
  
Kronos waved for the guards to release him. “Get on the bed.” It was a command. Methos looked around the room, searching for an escape, but there were guards everywhere, even at the window. He took a cautious step forward and then another until he was at the edge of the bed.  
  
Climbing onto the bed, he sat on his heels in the middle, looking around. He was alone in a room full of people, on display, a freak. Methos felt rather than saw Kronos’s now naked form behind him. Roughly his face was pushed down into the bed, Kronos’s knee digging into his calf to hold him down.  
  
“I will teach you to participate more fully, but for now your cooperation isn’t necessary.” And there was that evil laugh again as Methos, struggling for breath, felt the oiled head of Kronos’s cock at his entrance…  
  
Duncan strode quickly through the stone corridors. He needed to talk to Joseph. Now.  
He was furious. How could he have been so stupid that he had believed that thing! That he had thought it beautiful. It had all been a lie, a manipulation. He threw open the doors to his chambers.  
  
“Mac?!” Joseph’s face showed concerned at the abruptness of Duncan’s entrance.  
  
“He’s a brunde, Joe, or at least half of one!” Duncan paced around the small room. “It just doesn’t make any sense. They’re always in packs, why was he alone? Why didn’t he kill me or at least make an attempt?” He turned to look at Joseph who was still sitting at the small table.  
  
“Who are you talking about?” Joseph’s voice reflected his exasperation.  
  
Sitting at the table, Duncan launched into his story. He told Joe of finding Methos hiding in the dragon’s cave, how the man refused to leave and then refused to talk about how he came to be there. But mostly Duncan spoke of how foolish he had been, how he had thought Methos beautiful, how gentle and unsure the slender man seemed, how his sarcastic caustic humor had caught Duncan off-guard.  
  
“I just don’t understand.” Duncan hopped up from the table to pace again in his frustration. “Why didn’t he attack me? Why act like that?”  
  
“Perhaps it wasn’t an act?”  
  
Not an act! “They’re blood-crazed! All they do is kill!”  
  
“But you said he’s a half-breed.” Joseph’s calm acceptance irked him.  
  
“So?” Duncan was definitely missing something.  
  
“Mac, you remember Samuel, son of William and Meredith?” Duncan sank heavily into the seat next to Joseph, wondering where the hell this was going, but knowing that Joseph would get to the point when he got there. He nodded. “Remember how he turned out? Such wonderful kind loving parents and yet Samuel was a cheat and a murderer. It works the other way sometimes too, gentle children coming from the most awful parents.”  
  
Duncan scowled. This was more than terrible parenting, this was the brunde. How could anything good come from that race? But Joseph kept talking.  
  
“It’s not easy to go against your upbringing, to decide for yourself that there is more than killing, more than the life that you have always known.”  
  
Duncan left the room, still frowning. He wandered through the halls thinking. Methos was certainly different, but at no time did Duncan feel that the man was dangerous to him. Methos never seemed anything but gentle, smart, beautiful…  
  
A scream rent the air, desperate and pained. Duncan didn’t need to be a genius to know who screamed. Methos. For a moment, Duncan felt like running towards the sound, rescuing Methos, riding away from here with him.  
  
But it was only a moment. Then Duncan’s feelings of betrayal returned. It was no less than the man deserved. Methos had probably killed who knows how many people in his life. But somehow, Duncan couldn’t quit make himself believe it. No one deserved to suffer like that did they? Torturing the man wasn’t helping anyone.  
  
He continued his wanderings, trying not to hear that scream resounding in the silent corridors. After another hour though, he gave up. He needed to see Methos, to talk to him. He needed to understand, dammit. So he headed for the dungeon.  
  
At the sight of Methos, Duncan felt the protective urge rise up again. The man was squatting on the ground, leaning his back against the wall that he was chained to. He looked miserable. His clothes were splattered with blood and dirt, clumsily arranged. Methos’s lip was split and bruises were forming on his cheek and forearms.  
  
Sighing Duncan walked over, the hazel eyes tracking his movements though Methos made no move. He sat on the ground before the other man, wondering how to begin.  
  
“Methos I…” Duncan’s words stopped as Methos’s eyes narrowed to catlike slits, looking at him as if with scorn. Maybe this was a bad idea, Methos wasn’t going to listen to him. It was pointless to think that a half-breed would care anything about…

“She didn’t kidnap me you know.” Methos spoke softly in the gloom of the dungeon, his tone wistful. “Or anyone else. She eats animals not humans.”  
  
Duncan frowned feeling as if he had been a step behind this whole day. “Who?” His voice was soft as if soothing a wounded beast. He hadn’t meant it to come out that way, it just did.  
  
Methos smiled. “Nter, the dragon.”  
  
“You speak to her, to them?” The awe wasn’t intentional either.  
  
“Yes a psychic connection. It’s a benefit, or a side effect of this…” Methos’s hand waved around absently as if to encompass everything. “She was good to me.” His eyes filled with tears, obscuring their deep green color of distress.  
  
And so they talked, as if they weren’t enemies sitting on the packed dirt floor of a castle dungeon. They talked as if they were friends. Methos told him about the dragons and the caves and his life with them. He told Duncan about the books that Nter had scavenged for him and how he had found peace there. They did not speak of the brunde or anything that occurred before Methos came to live with the dragons.  
  
Duncan hadn’t noticed before how expressive the man was. Methos talked as much with his hands as his voice. And he was as hard on himself as he had been on Duncan, laughing in a self-deprecating way about his own follies and instances of questionable logic.  
  
When Duncan began to yawn, Methos had sent him away to bed. Not at all acting like a monster or railing against the injustice of his imprisonment. He had an odd manner of acceptance. But Duncan caught his eyes as he left and in them he saw desolation and remorse. It was nothing that Duncan had expected.  
  
Duncan went back to the dungeon the next morning. He brought bread and cheese with him since he didn’t think that Methos was being fed. The night in the dungeon obviously hadn’t done the youth any good. There were now dark circles under Methos’s eyes and the bruises had darkened considerably.  
  
He sat down in front of the captive again. He noticed that Methos stared at the food in his hands, dragging his eyes away with difficulty to feign indifference. For a moment when Duncan held out the bread and cheese, offering them to the slender man, Methos looked as if his pride would cause him to refuse. After a moment though, Methos took the food with trembling hands not looking at Duncan.  
  
“Thank you.” Duncan smiled. Surely a soulless demon wouldn’t thank him, it served no purpose. It was simply an expression of gratitude.  
  
They were quiet as Methos ate. He had barely finished when several more soldiers came into the dungeon. After speaking a few words to the guards, they all advanced on the huddled figure. Duncan hastily stood up as the soldiers waved him back.  
  
He couldn’t help seeing that Methos had gone pale in sudden fear. Unlike the scene in the throne room when Methos had let the soldiers take him, this time Methos fought desperately.  
  
“No!” Methos shouted at them, scrambling on the dirt floor.  
  
The soldiers just laughed. “Come now, you know you want it. Your whole race is a pack of whores.”  
  
Duncan started at the insinuation. “Kronos would force him?”  
  
“Please,” a soldier sneered at him. “Screaming is foreplay for his kind.”  
  
Duncan felt sick. It didn’t look like foreplay to him. Methos certainly seemed to be frantic, trying to escape them despite the blows they rained on him. But the knight couldn’t do anything to stop them. He couldn’t possibly fight them all and even if he could, there were still more soldiers to prevent them from leaving the castle grounds. So he followed as they dragged Methos to Kronos’s bedchamber. Duncan stood outside, listening, imagining the horrors inside.  
  
He heard Methos shouting and the sounds of a scuffle. Then Methos was screaming again, the sound eventually lessening to anguished whimpers. He heard Kronos’s voice, “You will learn to obey me in all things.” And then it was quiet.  
  
Duncan was about to throw himself at the chamber doors and damned be the consequences when they opened. Soldiers reappeared, holding Methos’s limp form between them so that the man’s toes dragged on the stone floor. Silent he followed them back to the dungeon, a grim procession.  
  
He waited as they dumped Methos on the dirt floor and reshackled him to the wall. As soon as they backed away again though, Duncan surged forward, lifting the leaner man into his lap. He held Methos between his legs, careful to keep the man’s weight off his backside. Petting the short dark hair, he whispered soothing words.  
  
But Methos wouldn’t just accept this kindness. He tried to scramble off Duncan’s lap and was only held in place by the greater strength of the bronze arms. His fury was short-lived however as his exhaustion got the better of him.  
  
“Why?! Why are you being nice to me? I don’t belong here, I don’t belong anywhere, not with humans and not with the brunde.” Methos’s voice was a wail that cut Duncan. Here was his answer, his explanation and all he could think was that it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was easing that terrible pain that radiated from the battered form in his arms.  
  
“I was raised with them you know? I was just like them, I did everything terrible that they did. I just wanted…I wanted to make my father proud.” Duncan clutched Methos tighter. How times had he thought those same words. He had always wanted to live up to his father’s expectations. That Methos’s father was a brunde was not his fault. It was all Methos knew.  
  
“But I couldn’t.” Methos was sobbing now like a babe in Duncan’s arms. “The longer it went on, I just couldn’t do it anymore. There had to be more to life than death.”  
  
Frankly Duncan was amazed at Methos’s strength. To go against his family, against everything that he knew, had been taught. Duncan felt meager by comparison. He was a good man because that’s how he was raised. Methos was a good man through his own will alone, his own choice.  
  
Duncan bent his head over Methos. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. There was nothing else to say.  
  
Methos pulled his head up sharply and his eyes were wide, hopeful and vulnerable with tears like dew on the tips of his long lashes. Duncan couldn’t resist, felt strangely drawn. He lowered his lips to Methos’s, pressing a kiss to the other man’s mouth, feeling in that moment a warmth that permeated to his core.  
  
The perfect moment ended abruptly as a guard shouted at them.  
  
“Hey! None of that! We see what you’re about now!” Duncan was yanked backward, Methos tumbling from his lap like a rag doll. As he was dragged from the room, he continued to stare at Methos, on his knees, looking completely hopeless and yet reconciled, as if he had known that such happiness could not last.  
  
Duncan went back to his rooms to find both Joseph and Richard there, sitting at the table again and playing a round of cards.  
  
“Hey where have you been?” Richard asked with a bright smile that dimmed immediately as he took in his friend’s countenance. “What is it?” Duncan was ushered into the chair that Richard vacated as the redhead scrounged in a cupboard for the whiskey that they had brought from the MacLeod castle.  
  
“Joseph told me about your dragon adventure.” Richard continued as he wiped out a pewter cup.  
  
Duncan felt the sudden burn of tears behind his eyes and closed them until the inclination passed. When he opened them again, he found the cup with a generous portion of liquor in it in front of him. Gratefully he took a large swallow.  
  
“You were right Joseph. He’s not like them, but Kronos is torturing him anyway.” Dammit he had to close his eyes again against their sudden wetness. He felt Richard’s hand on his forearm and nodded his thanks.  
  
Joseph’s face was sympathetic as well when Duncan lifted his eyelids again. It was his last hope that this mentor would have the answer, the perfect solution that evaded him.  
  
The older man pursed his lips in thought. “Well what does King Kronos want with him?”  
  
Duncan’s laugh was utterly devoid of amusement as he answered, “Besides sex?”  
  
Richard drew in a quick breath. Duncan nodded his agreement. It was unseemly and appalling to use prisoners thus. His father would never have stood for it.  
  
“Yes I think it’s more than that. There has got to be a reason that Kronos didn’t kill Methos outright. He must want something.”  
  
“But what?!” Duncan cried, slamming his cup down with a bang. He struggled to regain his calm. It wasn’t their fault. They would help however they could he knew. They were true friends and he could count on them no matter what. But a cold thought followed that. Who did Methos have to trust? Not his relatives, perhaps the dragon. And Duncan had abandoned him. Forced Methos to come down here and then abandoned him to Kronos. Duncan dropped his head into his hands.  
  
The next day Duncan was pleased to at least have one question answered. He was moping around outside in the courtyard when he saw movement in an upper balcony. He saw Kronos dragging an even more disheveled and bruised Methos outside. Snippets of the shouted conversation drifted down to him.  
  
“Call the dragons!” Kronos shouted, pushing Methos to his knees and yanking the man’s head back by the short dark hair. Methos’s mouth moved but Duncan couldn’t discern the words. Judging by Kronos’s response however, the kneeling man had refused.  
  
“You will obey me! And so will they!” the king shouted, throwing his captive to the ground before stomping back inside leaving his soldiers to follow with Methos.  
  
Duncan winced at the brutality inflicted on the man he had come to know, feeling more helpless than ever in his life. At least he knew what Kronos was after now. He still didn’t know what he could do about it though.  
  
And even if they could somehow manage to free Methos what then? Would his father accept a refugee from another kingdom, a man on the run whom his son had freed? A half-breed? Doubtful, King Ian was as superstitious as anyone. Was there anywhere that they might go where Methos would not be hated? Duncan had not recognized Methos as brunde at first; most people would not be looking for the signs. Half breeds were uncommon because victims were not often left alive. But still they would always run the risk of someone realizing what Methos was as Cassandra had.  
  
It turned out however that Methos’s refusal to call the dragons didn’t matter. They had heard his agony. Duncan awoke the next morning to the sound of human screams and dragon shrieks. He ran outside, followed closely by Richard.  
  
He felt like his heart might beat right out of his chest as he ran into the inner courtyard, seeing three dragons circling above, one red, one black, and the last green. And standing in the center of the melee was Kronos holding a blade to Methos’s neck and shouting at the sky.  
  
Duncan froze. This could be his opportunity. If he could take out Kronos while his soldiers were occupied with the dragons, but how to distract the king before he killed Methos…  
  
He listened to their words as he crept closer.  
  
“You can’t keep me here like this forever.” Methos was saying.  
  
“Tell them to go away!”  
  
“They’re not trained dogs! They don’t mindlessly do whatever I say.”  
  
But Duncan could tell that they obviously were concerned about Methos. The two other dragons attacked the soldiers on the towers and the gates, but the red dragon circled over Methos continuously. Finally she landed with a reverberating thump on the ground in front of where Kronos and Methos were standing.  
  
It was the distraction that Duncan had been waiting for. Kronos jumped back instinctively, the edge of his blade just nicking Methos’s neck as he ran forward. Duncan sprung into action, attacking Kronos with his own sword. They circled each other, trading cuts. Out of the corner of his eye, Duncan could see Methos trying to prevent the guards from attacking the dragons. And judging by the looks of his hand motions, Methos was simultaneously trying to get the dragons to leave. It also looked to Duncan as if the dragons were refusing, the red one snapping her huge jaws at any soldier who got too close to Methos.  
  
His inattention to the fight in front of him let Kronos close enough to Duncan to score a nasty slash down his right arm. The two men tumbled to the ground, wrestling for a moment before they managed to separate and jump back up.  
  
Methos screamed at Nter in his mind, trying to get her to fly away. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt, not because of him, not the dragons, not even the guards, and especially not Duncan. With a start of fear, he turned around to search for the knight.  
  
It happened as if in slow motion, isn’t that what they always say. Duncan was again circling Kronos, totally absorbed in the fight, assuming that his opponent would play fair. But Methos knew better, the man’s ambition was bigger than his brain but Kronos wasn’t stupid and wasn’t above playing dirty.  
  
Looking around, Methos spotted an archer taking aim at Duncan. He left Nter and began running, sprinting towards Duncan. He shouted at the other man, but Duncan couldn’t seem to hear him…  
  
Duncan became aware of someone shouting just as Methos launched himself. The bigger man hit the ground hard, his breath forced out of his lungs by Methos’s weight landing on top of him. Methos tried to get up, but was unsteady and fell back on Duncan’s chest. That was when Duncan noticed the arrow shaft embedded in the other man’s back.  
  
“Methos!” Duncan sat up, sliding Methos down across Duncan’s legs still on his stomach. Methos’s face was turned so that the man’s profile was visible to Duncan but the captivating eyes were closed.  
  
“Pull it out.” Methos’s voice was a low whisper.  
  
“No, just hold on.” Duncan’s own voice was bordering on the hysterical. His hands stroked over Methos’s still form frantically, ignoring the blood that spread to cover everything.  
  
What were they going to do? Methos needed help, but they had to get out of here. But Methos wasn’t fit to travel, would probably die before they got to his father’s castle. He looked around frantically, spotting Richard now fighting Kronos, keeping the king from getting to where Duncan sat.  
  
Looking to the opposite side, Duncan saw an enormous red dragon approaching him. He went perfectly still. Was Methos still conscious, could he tell her to back off?

Duncan closed his eyes, clutching Metho’s bleeding body with an iron grip as a huge scaly claw descended slowly down on them. He opened them again in a hurry when he felt the body being pulled away despite his strength.  
  
The claw had closed around the broken form in his lap and was lifting it up. Duncan begged, “Please no, don’t…” as tears streamed from his eyes. He tried to hold on but didn’t want to hurt Methos particularly when he knew he was outmatched. But this couldn’t be the way it ended. They had just met, it wasn’t fair. Methos had known nothing but pain in his life so far. He couldn’t just die.  
  
As the dragon lifted off into the sky, clutching her unconscious bundle, Duncan became away of another sound. It was Richard screaming at him from atop his horse. And Joseph was with him and he was holding Duncan’s horse…  
  
“I killed Kronos, Duncan! We have to get out of here now!”  
  
Duncan latched onto the imperative like a drowning man onto a life preserver. Anything so that he didn’t have to think about what he had just lost. The three men galloped out of Kronos’s keep like the hounds of hell were after them, heading straight for the MacLeod castle.  
  
It took them the entire day to get there. They only made such time because Duncan wouldn’t let them stop and only occasionally allowed them to dismount and walk their horses.  
  
The MacLeod keep was in its own uproar at their arrival. Duncan felt the heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders. Had he brought war to his father’s house? He had been relieved when no one followed their hasty retreat from Kronos’s keep. After sliding off his horse, he had to close his eyes against his grief. Duncan could not bear anyone else to die, not when Methos was already dead himself.  
  
“Duncan!” His brother’s voice cut clear across his mental haze and the courtyard that separated them. He moved forward, clasping Connor in a stiff but warm embrace.  
  
“Such excitement this morning, brother, here you went all the way to Kronos’s lands to fight the dragon and the dragon came to us.”  
  
“What?!” Duncan’s whole body stiffened and he stopped walking, causing the older MacLeod’s grin to waver.  
  
“This morning, a red dragon flew right up to the gate, landed and flew away. It wasn’t until after it had gone that we noticed the lad.”  
  
Duncan suddenly found it difficult to swallow, his mouth was so dry. Connor gripped his shoulder in support, apparently taking Duncan’s reaction as fear.  
  
“Don’t worry, no one was hurt. Even the lad the dragon deposited was injured with a cross-bolt not talons.”  
  
“He’s alive?” Irrational hope flared causing his gut to clench.  
  
“Yes,” Connor seemed confused.  
  
“Take me to him, now!”  
  
Methos lay on a simple bed, his unnaturally white skin showing the multicolored bruises to their greatest effect. Duncan knelt beside the bed and took the long fingers in his own hand. Vaguely he saw, Richard leading his brother away, talking to Connor softly. He paid them no heed though, he saw nothing but the man lying so still in front of him.  
  
Eventually the doctor came and brought him a chair to sit on as he kept his vigil over Methos through the night. Apparently Methos had been lucky, the arrow seemed to have missed everything vital but the youth had still lost a lot of blood. The real danger would be if he contracted the fever that often accompanied serious wounds. It would be unlikely for him to survive that.  
  
Duncan sat and worried. He bathed Methos’s forehead with cool water to keep the fever away. Soaking the edge of a cloth with water and pressing it between Methos’s lips, the injured youth sucked the water out like a weanling. The simple instinctual act made Methos look so helpless it was heart-wrenching.  
  
It was early the next morning when his father, King Ian came to see him. Methos had yet to wake up and they took their conversation into the hallway so as not to disturb the convalescing youth.  
  
Ian laid a hand on his son’s broad shoulder. Duncan almost flinched at the contact.  
  
“I’m not angry about what you’ve done, Duncan.” The younger man’s eyebrows must have touched his hairline. “I understand that you were trying to save an innocent young man.” What the hell did Richard tell him?  
  
Duncan just nodded which apparently was enough to encourage his father to continue. “I’ve sent a few soldiers to check on the situation at Felwah.” Ian shook his head in disgust. “To think that Kronos would use an innocent youth thus…I can understand that you felt protective Duncan, particular after you had just rescued the youth from the dragon’s lair. It’s no wonder really that the dragons attacked the castle after you had taken something that belonged to them. What made the dragon bring the lad here we’ll never know I imagine.”  
  
Ian turned to Duncan with a more commanding look. “I know that you are quite fond of the young man, so you need not confront the dragon until the youth has sufficiently recovered.” Ian’s final gaze before striding away told Duncan that though he was willing to be tolerant of this latest dalliance he expected his younger son to fulfill his duties still, all of them.  
  
When he re-entered the sick room, it took him a moment to realize that Methos’s eyes were open. He was awake! Duncan smiled so wide it actually hurt. Still he was careful not to do more than lightly run his hands through the man’s silky hair, mindful of the bruises. Methos gave a slight smile at the attention. Stiffly, Methos levered himself up to a sitting position, the sheet slipping down his bare chest like water down a waterfall, exposing a physique only hinted at before.  
  
Methos’s chest was well-muscled in the flat planed way of a swimmer or runner, but it was marred both by more bruising and by the band of cloth that dressed his wound. The bandage was blessedly free of any trace of blood but it was still an uncomfortable reminder of how fragile their circumstances still were.  
  
A grimace of pain marred the striking features, but Duncan didn’t know how to help that wouldn’t cause more pain. Methos attempted to speak but all he managed was a pained rasping sound. Instantly Duncan was there with a cup of water, holding Methos’s head as gently as possible as he pressed the edge of the cup to the plush lips. It reminded him of their first meeting.  
  
They spent the rest of the day in easy companionship that made Duncan long for more of the same. Methos was still weak from blood loss and was unable to prevent Duncan from indulging his need to cosset the injured youth. And Methos had remembered the ingredients for a poultice that according to a book he had read, would prevent the fever. Duncan felt even more amazed at the strange experiences of the man who had captured his heart.  
  
Methos was tired and napped throughout the day. Duncan was tired too but no amount of prodding would persuade him to leave Methos’s side. With a sigh of exasperation, Methos had shyly invited Duncan into the bed with him. Methos was tense at first but quickly dropped off to sleep and Duncan followed close behind.  
  
When Duncan awoke it was dark and he had the distinct impression of eyes upon him. He had only to turn his head slightly on the pillow to see Methos watching him.  
  
“Did you have a nightmare,” Duncan’s voice was quiet in deference to the darkness as he rolled onto his side.  
  
Methos didn’t answer but moved closer still and reached out a long-fingered hand to brush the back of his knuckles against Duncan’s cheek. He stayed still as Methos pushed himself up a little and leaned forward for a kiss. But he didn’t stay still for long, he couldn’t. He wrapped the lean figure in his arms and deepened the kiss and Methos opened for him. It wasn’t long before Methos pushed him away though.  
  
Methos was panting as he rolled onto his stomach and lay there, holding himself very still. Duncan knew what the other man was offering. He traced the tips of his fingers over the pale skin of Methos’s bare back, watching as a faint tremor spread over the man’s body. Methos was afraid.  
  
It certainly wasn’t surprising as much as the display pained Duncan. Methos had not known sex outside of Kronos’s abuse and the depravity he learned with the brunde. He pushed away the thought of his love in either of those situations, hurting or being hurt. Gently he coaxed Methos back onto his side. The confusion and self-loathing in the expressive eyes causing an answering ache in his own chest. His only thought was to remove the sign and cause of that distress.  
  
Duncan kissed him again, laying Methos on his back so that the knight would have unfettered access to his partner’s body. He kissed and teased and generally stimulated his partner til Methos was reduced to an incoherent bundle of nerves. And then Duncan worked his way back up this partner’s body for another soul-satisfying kiss, taking the opportunity to roll them until Methos was above him this time. He almost laughed at the look of confusion on his lover’s face now.  
  
“No, I won’t hurt you.” Methos’s voice was quiet but adamant causing Duncan to lay another kiss on his swollen lips.  
  
“You could never hurt me, Methos.” Duncan reached over to grab a jar of salve that he had laid on the nearby table earlier. “I’ll show you.”  
  
Methos sat back on his heels still looking suspicious as Duncan bent his own knees to place his feet flat on the bed. He gestured for Methos to dip his fingers into the jar.  
  
“Now press one finger inside.” Duncan gasped as Methos complied. Slowly Methos moved his finger, exploring as if he had no idea what effect his movements were having on his partner. And then the long finger brushed Duncan’s prostate and he jerked hard in response. Methos stilled immediately, apologizing profusely and beginning to withdraw the finger.  
  
“No!” and then in a calmer voice, “No.” Duncan smiled in the face of Methos’s uncertainty and pulled his partner’s face in for a kiss. Methos moved his finger again, trying unsuccessfully to hide his own smile at Duncan’s enthusiastic response.  
  
Eventually, Duncan had to grasp Methos’s finger to stop its movement as he was unable at that point to catch his breath enough to speak. He spread the salve on Methos’s erection taking pleasure in the slight moan that his light touch solicited.  
  
Slowly, cautiously they came together, the wonder on Methos’s face growing with every inch of his length that Duncan accepted into his own body. Tenderly they moved together as if as one, long powerful strokes bringing them both to orgasm. And then Duncan snuggled the long body alongside his own knowing that now he could never let Methos go.  
  
The last thing he heard before falling asleep were Methos’s words, whispered reverently, “Teach me.”  
  
When they awoke, Duncan knew what had to be done. He hated to leave and he hated to lie but his father would never accept Methos. The other man had objected, loudly of course, saying that Duncan shouldn’t have to leave his family, his home, his life, not for a half-breed like himself. But his words only strengthened Duncan’s resolve and absurdly, it felt good to frustrate the too-knowing other man.  
  
Duncan told his father that Methos was well enough and that they would both go to the dragon. He hedged and had not actually told his father that they would fight the dragon. Fortunately the messengers had returned and explained that the new king of Felwah would not be seeking revenge for Kronos’s death. Apparently the man was not well-liked.  
  
Richard and Joseph smiled at him as he loaded his horse, their gazes knowing and understanding. He would see them again, he swore. Connor caught up with him just before he climbed onto his own horse.  
  
“Duncan,” his brother started grasping his bicep. “I know what you’re doing.” Blue eyes shot a sharp look at Methos already sitting astride his pale horse. Then his gaze softened as he looked back to his brother’s dark brown eyes. “When I am king…you will return. Both of you.” It was not a suggestion or an order, simply a statement of fact. They smiled at one another and Duncan embraced his brother.  
With a slightly lighter heart, Duncan strode out the gate and toward his future. It was not the end, only a beginning. The dragon’s lair would be their first stop, one of many adventures to come he knew. And Methos would be at his side, constant.


End file.
